


Typhoons and Monsoons

by Jae_Mackenzie



Series: Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Before Ragnarok, Cannon Divergence, F/M, Not Infinity War compliant, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Slightly Alternate Universe, Slow Burn, loki doesn't pretend to be odin, no hela, only happy little trees, they don't have a sister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae_Mackenzie/pseuds/Jae_Mackenzie
Summary: After Thor and Loki return triumphant from Svartalfheim, Odin feels his strength fading and is more concerned than ever that his sons secure advantageous marriages and produce heirs. He unknowingly signs a treaty with an usurper who offers his daughter’s hand in exchange for a lucrative trade deal.(AKA Jae reads too many regency novels but also wants to physically overthrow the patriarchy/defeat her father)





	1. Residue of a Torturer

The dower portrait of your mother hung over the dark throne room, a specter between you and your father. He reclined drunk over the ornately carved mahogany throne, his dressing gowns strewn open across his grotesque chest. For the first time in days, you were free from your chambers.

Your mother’s body wasn’t cold when he demanded you be locked in your chambers. No amount of spells, incantations or hexes could quell the grief that hung over you. Days passed listlessly while confined, with each dawn the hate grew behind your eyes and seeped into your veins until it boiled your blood and inhabited every part of your being. Per-tradition, you were now Queen. Even if the repulsive pig draped across your throne wouldn’t abdicate, the title of Queen was yours and any neighboring realm or kingdom would recognize that enough to aid your efforts in disposing him.

“Ah, the bastard Princess!” He greeted you, spitting a wad of tobacco at your feet.“As your father, I hope your time alone has calmed your hysterics.” He propelled himself up, standing brazenly before you. “Loosing your mother-“ he faltered as if her ghost caught his guilt ridden attention, “was an unexpected tragedy. And the world isn’t safe for you to rule unmarried, especially with the dubious conditions of your birth.”

Your tongue lay heavy in your mouth, thick with anger and cautiously preventing the bile creeping up your throat. You were a woman grown in truth, but the softer curve of your stomach and thighs made you appear younger. Memories of horrid state dinners crossed your mind, his voice like the sound of rotten soggy wood crumbling, mocking your softness and your size wondering if you were really his daughter and the true born daughter of such a witch, why you didn’t change your shape.

Your mother would always rebuke his insults, as the Queen and a powerful Witch she would pass on her legacy to you just as her mother had. It wasn’t like passing on a sword or a crown but like a flowering inside you, one that discovered things and places that would’ve remained hidden for women outside the blood-line, those not favored by the Goddess.

As he slunk back you surveyed the crumbling room, once so alive with diplomats and feasts the gold had faded from the room through the course of your mother’s short and sudden illness. 

There were two of his guards at the back of the hall, beyond the throne, one behind your back poised by the door, and any number of them waiting behind it. You were surrounded, forced to listen to his ramblings.

“I’m certain it was no intention of your mother’s for you to rule unwed. As it stands, she had made provisions for you.” The way his eyes sneered told you that he had made provisions in her name. His audacity loosened your tongue.

“You false, manipulative cur. The women of my family have ruled alone for centuries. When we take a companion it is our decision to award them the title of consort and nothing more. Anything else,” you gestured at him and the forged document he held out to you, “is treason.”

‘Treason’ hung in the air, sparking icy electricity to reverberate in the syllables. The King Regent, had been accused of treason and all the proof was in the lopsided crown he wore as if it was his.

Behind you, the guard at the door unsheathed his sword his hands fumbling to stay quiet amid the deafening tension.

“Silence! You’ll respect your Father and your King. I will see all your mother’s wishes are carried out to the letter. She signed a contract for your marriage. Part of a new, trade treaty.”

The line of his smirk stoked the fire coursing through your veins.

“What of her will? Oh kind and benevolent father,” you mocked him, “will you follow that?”The square of your shoulders never wavered, the resolution unsettling the would-be-tyrant.

“Your mother was not well when she wrote that will, I’m conducting an investigation of her private chambers for a version free of manipulation.”

The only private rooms in the castle were your mother’s sanctuary. Where she taught you how to read from spell books over candle light, how to sense the energy in the air and honor the great stars above who blessed your craft. The last tangible reminder of her legacy, corrupted by his filthy hands. He wouldn’t find another will, but you knew looking at the scroll in his hand, he could fake one.

“If you’re quite done interrupting. I’ve already asked your lady’s maid to prepare your things. You’re leaving within the hour.”He tried not to smile at the shock on your face, forcing the scroll into your hands.

‘By the Order of Queen Rowena, this document once signed promises the hand of my daughter to whomever her benefactor prefers. Due to her dubiously base position I only ask she be treated according to her status therein.’

He’d doomed you. The arrangement of a benefactor for the Queen of an entire kingdom, as if she was a pauper deserving only to serve some fat tax collector until he chose to marry her off for a better piece of property. The language was cold, distinctly unlike your mother’s letters which were always touched by a little magick to ensure a safe delivery. You didn’t recognize the signature next to her’s at the bottom.

You flinched feeling his rank breath on your ear. “See there little bastard-princess? Your mother’s mark. And next to it...that of Odin, Allfather, King of Asgard.”

Your heart dropped, to instruct another royal family, one of considerable power to treat you according to a base status was pledging you to slavery. What use would they find for a commoner in their court?

The Allmother had been a reliable friend of your mother. Although your magicks came from different sources, there was much to learn from each other. You prayed she still lived, and could recognize the only child your mother had been so proud of.

Your breathing hitched as he turned to walk away. The fire licked down to your fingertips urging you on to knock him down, the crown flying off his greasy hair. As soon as the blow fell, you felt guards rush and pull you back by your arms, prepared to drag you out of the throne room. 

“O’ Father you vile creature I hex thee,” your voice trembled with anger as you struggled against the guards intending to finish your curse at any cost. 

“To a miserably short life. Filled with all the pain and death you cast upon my mother! You will die forsaken by all in a crumbling and decaying castle, left for the rats to feast upon until even the villages by the river can smell the foulness of your corpse!” As the guards drug you screaming from the room you offered one last promise, “you can’t kill us both!”

He screamed something to the guard dragging you, but the waves of blood pounding in your ears drowned them out. To seal the curse you bit your lip and let the blood trail down your face and to the floor. 

Even if you had to murder your way back here, for your mother’s sake, for her memory, you’d see him in ruin.

The euphoria from completing the hex was the last thing you felt before something crashed into your skull, turning the world to black forcing you to the ground like one of the ancient pillars already starting to rot inside the throne room.

You awoke confused in the back of a stage-coach. Your lady’s maid, Halla holding your head in her lap, ensuring the injury wasn’t bumped as you were forced away from home, and into the uncertainty of the future.


	2. Burn my Lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The “Bastard Princess” arrives in Asgard, and is eased by sweet dreams.

 The Allfather sat proudly as he called court to session. With a short wave of his hand the room emptied save for his sons, and a few members of the royal guard. Thor and Loki silently approached their father, watching lines of worry trace the corners of his eyes, and the weakened strength of once mighty hands. 

“My sons, I’ve grown tired these past months,” his voice no longer sounded like triumph but rather the soft solitude of an ancient and forgotten text. “It is time I find something to do with the two of you.”

Thor stepped forward, his cape twisting around his body as an interruption. “Father we’ve spoken on this. I cannot lead our people properly, while so much of my attention is on earth.” Thor thought of Jane for a fleeting moment, of her silky brown hair and the passion behind her eyes at any given moment. “I haven’t changed my mind, not even in light of recent events,” he said lowly referring to the end of their relationship.

Odin chuckled, “What to do? One son who will not rule, and one that would if the people trusted him.”

Loki permitted the corner of his mouth to flicker into a smile. Of course he should rule, no one was better suited for the art of negotiation than he and his silver tongue. He forced his smile back into a tight-lipped line. After they had returned victorious, public opinion opened up to the idea of changing towards the once wayward prince. Loki wanted nothing more than to leap at his second chance at destiny, only restricted by the lingering fears of people too sheltered to understand the duality of his nature.

“Since I haven’t faded from this throne yet I’ve arranged provisions for you both, and our Kingdom.” Shakily Odin came to his feet and unfurled a treaty, he skimmed quickly.

“Queen Rowena wrote offering an open trade agreement and alliance. If you recall, she was your mother’s particular friend.”

The ghost of their mother covered the room in her memory with the reminder. Loki barely remembered the two women meeting over ancient tomes while he and Thor played as children.

“As such, despite the strange nature of the letter, I agreed. Whatever doubts I hold are inconsequential compared to the trust Frigga placed with Rowena.”

Thor chuckled heartily, “Then we must celebrate! Their Kingdom is prosperous indeed, and this alliance shall foster success for ages to come!”

Thor’s eyes were bright, his mind already turning over different meads and ales to be prepared and friends to be gathered. Loki felt an uncomfortable air enter the room. Distrust swept up his spine urging him to ask, “And what, pray-tell, have we promised in return?”

Odin eased himself back on the throne, weaving finality and authority in his words, “The fostering, and appropriate marriage of her daughter, at my sole discretion.”

Thor and Loki shared a glance. Neither of them were entirely comfortable with this arrangement. On Asgard marriage was more of a celebratory declaration than a bartering chip, and although it had never been voiced, each brother thought they and their hearts alone would make that decision.

Their displeasure must’ve been plain, as Odin rebuked them, asserting his place as their King, and Father. “This is for the good of our people, for whom sacrifices must be made.”

“Regardless of who I choose: You are our people’s future, which this arrangement secures. Just because she is your wife doesn’t mean you cannot take another, or that you must have anything to do with her!” He roared at the two princes, filled with all the righteous hellfire of an outdated and fading tradition.

He flung the scroll at their feet, snarling. “Her only use is in the propagation of our line! Read for yourself how little this creature means to her own people.”

Loki knelt and retrieved the parchment, fingers tracing the words. He knew their magick was different from his, but the words and their signature held none. Unusual for a contract signed by such a renowned sorceress.  

Thor approached quietly his eyes darting over the page hurriedly, concern growing with each line. “Father, that was not written by who you think. Even I wouldn’t send such an informal and indifferent letter.” For a moment Odin seemed to hear his firstborn. Only to strike his staff off the ground in frustration. And all of a sudden, they didn’t recognize the man sitting before them.

Age and loss had warped their caring father: who treasured an orphan child in hopes of peace, who forced responsibility upon his sons, who loved a woman so dearly her loss nearly broke him.

The tall oak doors behind them groaned open, a small herald darting into the room.

“Your highness?” He squeaked, “You had instructed we bring the girl in... w-would you rather we showed her to her chambers?” His eyes ran from face to face assessing the tension, trying to find a way where it didn’t explode in the face of a very tired guest. 

Odin huffed and wildly motioned for his sons to stand aside him, as if the entire court would be reentering the room.

“No, bring the bitch in,” he growled tempted to throw something at the sniveling man.

You took that as your entrance cue. Unfortunately the Allfather wasn’t accustomed to being quiet. You couldn’t hate him for the assessment, your father had bartered you as a bitch no better than the ones that bore the hunting dogs running around outside the palace. Fortunately, you’d heard worse. Mumbling the spell for a small gust of wind, you willed the heavy doors to glide open.

You walked with your hips, slinking towards the throne like a hungry cat temporarily satiated.The soft silk of your skirts parted soundlessly for your steps, the loose lacing on the bodice allowing the full swell of your waist and hips to shape the burgundy gown. The dainty lace swath covering your bust was sheer enough to outline your figure in a manner still deemed respectable. Although for all your worth on that parchment, you could’ve strut in naked. Your proud shoulders, confident gait, and stoic expression contrasted all the gentility you learned as a crown-princess. 

The princes watched your approach, enamored by the grace and power held inside such a soft looking woman, of purportedly low birth. There was a touch of something behind your eyes that caught their attention and gave more credence to their thoughts of foul play. 

You stopped the appropriate distance from the throne, for a supplicant and steeled your heart against your fears. Daring instead to walk closer, eliciting a shocked gasp from the guards and servants present. You almost laughed at the audacity, any other queen or king would’ve committed no social sin in approaching. 

Creating a pleasant softness to the harsh expression on your face, you offered a placating smile to the king.

“Allfather,” you acknowledged, curtsying low to the ground. For the memory of your mother, you wouldn’t let them think you were raised to disrespect kings.

As was custom you kept your head bowed, as he spoke softly to his sons, before formally introducing you.

“May I welcome you to Asgard Princess-“

Your spine prickled and your body stood to its full hight unknowingly eliciting another hushed gasp as you met the hard gaze of the elderly king.

“Actually,” you interrupted gently allowing your circlet to glimmer proudly in the light, “it’s Queen.”

Silence crept over the room as if a sudden plague had descended and struck its inhabitants dumb. The confusion on his father’s face prompted Thor to step in, ever the peacemaker.

He crossed the space between you in long jovial strides, “My Queen, it is an honor. Our mother spoke highly of your’s.”  His sincerity struck you off guard and for a moment you were there, back in the gardens between the two women pouring over ancient languages. 

“Yes, I remember their friendship fondly,” you said smiling at Thor. His genuine compassion cooling the lingering rage itching in your blood.

“And why has your Queen Mother not accompanied you? Is she well?” Odin asked glaring at your departure from tradition.

“My mother is dead,” you muttered icily returning the glare, “Her consort, my father, has usurped the crown.”Odin’s fury became evident. He was not accustomed to being played for a fool, or getting dragged into the political messes of other kingdoms.

“We recently lost our mother as well,” Loki said turning the attention from his father’s building frustration. He softly approached you, and gently took your hand in his. “We offer our complete condolences,” he said leaving the whisper of a kiss along your knuckles.

You smiled at the gesture and muttered a small sign of appreciation, dripping with all the sorrows and exhaustion of the day. 

Hearing your tiredness the princes glanced back at their father, Thor electing to speak on your behalf.

“If it pleases you Father, our Lady is exhausted from the journey and heavy with grief. Might we escort her to her chambers, so that she may rest and better consult with us tomorrow?”

You almost chuckled, Thor had to be the older child. He held enough favor to demand things in the form of a question, so his father might consider something he dreadfully opposed. Your focus was held in studying the princes faces, the sound of their voices fading along with their father’s as your mind tired. You didn’t notice until they gently started leading you from the room, that Loki’s hand still held yours.

The walk to your room was non existent as exhaustion swept you into its arms. The quiet “farewell’s” and reassurances a distant memory you weren’t sure had happened.

Your eyes closed quickly whisking you into a deep sleep, your energy all but spent on the day’s interactions and incantations. You dreamed of a smokey room, deliciously cold enveloped in the sounds of a storm.A thousand soothing hands ran over your weary body relaxing every inch of your skin, tracing the soft curves of your body leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

Had you been awake your mouth would’ve run dry in anticipation, your thighs rubbing together as your excitement peaked. You felt nails rake down your back, and the ghost of a hand over your throat. Even dreaming you didn’t see your lover, just felt their body against yours, hands and mouths racing across your skin molding you into a symphony of sinful sounds that pushed your mind into the sweetest oblivion.

You could’ve swore as the dream faded into deeper sleep, you felt someone’s arms snake around your waist, holding you. Through the night the faint smells of smoke and rain hung around your bed, as you knew it would when you awoke clinging into your skin until it felt like a part of the woman you were becoming.


	3. Devoted to Nurosis

The room around you was completely foreign. You stretched languidly, clearing the sleep from your eyes. The dark silk of the sheets wrapped around your legs, matched your family colors, as did all the dressings within your apartments. The towels strung-up next to the bath matched, along with the cushioned chair at the writing desk in the corner.

A hint of smoke clung to you skin, making you blush with the memory of your dream. At least that was a small comfort amid the chaos. After they read your summons for the day, the horde of servants rushed into your room to bathe you, and dry your hair. Thankfully they allowed you to provide one of your own dresses for the day. You opted for a day gown, enchanted to be light as a feather and cooling on the skin. The fabric shifted from a dark garnet to deep purple in the light, drawing more attention to your hips where the fabric swayed the most. The sleeves were only to your elbows, and the bodice was laced up the front, permitting a slight glance at your chest. You waved your lady’s maid to your side, thankful for the familiarity the seclusion of your chambers provided.

“Halla, I will have to show them Mother’s death. And other, older things.” Your voice grew thick in remembrance, not of the hurtful comments, but the memories of secrets long ago buried.

“I know Jocelyn was your friend. And I’m sorry to replay these things in your presence let alone the prying eyes and loose tongues of an entire court.”

Halla nodded silently, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder signaling her understanding.

“Whatever I show, whatever they say. You cannot leave me there among strangers. If the spell is too much and I must rest only you are permitted to assist me.” You instructed solemnly, although the other servants had been kind, the air of ‘otherness’ still lingered over them. You’d rather play it safe.

Halla squeezed your shoulder and gestured to the sun’s position on the horizon. You had been instructed to appear within the royal court in supplication that morning, you feared the added attention was due to your rather _impolite_ arrival.

As your steps echoed through the hushed halls, you ran a crystal talisman between your fingers and silently offered a prayer to your mother, your ancestors, and any gods you could remember. The scrying spell you were attempting to use was simple enough but modified to show memories, as living images that filled viewer’s heads with their sounds. It relied entirely off your own energy, and the memories trapped within your own mind.

Formal members of the King’s guard barred your entrance. You had to wait with the other supplicants until you were summoned before the court. With each passing second your thoughts grew louder, filling you with dread. Halla squeezed your hand, trying to pull you from your mind. But you couldn't ignore the persistent fears, bubbling over with grief.

You couldn’t stop thinking about your mother. How her gentle smile soothed all the storms within your soul in one look. How she tutored and fostered your magick even when it threatened to outgrow and consume you. How she protected you...

"Mother,” you prayed silently, digging your fingers into your palms, “I swear by the old gods and all the stars in the sky, I will have our justice.” Your throat tightened as rage shook through your body, “Goddess, he’s taken too much from us. I’m your vessel,” you pleaded fervently, “I will do whatever needed. I’ll kill him if you see fit.”

You gasped for air, noticing you’d been holding your breath. Quietly you whispered your last words to your goddess, “please do not let my family have died in vain.” 

Your prayer echoed through your mind, silencing the other thoughts. Nothing here could hurt you, there was nothing more to lose. As you settled into your resolution, the guards called your name.

As a child you learned how to walk with your hips, so that an entire room might fall in love with your grace. Although your future rested inside the room, you were done trying to win people over. You held your head high and oozed confidence in each step; in every way presenting the presence of a King, in every way your father couldn’t.

An appointed spokesperson explained to the court, the specifications of your spell, and that members of the courts and councils could proffer questions after the demonstration. Turning to you, they asked why you were showing these memories.

“To satisfy the questions of my birth and the guilt of my Mother’s consort: so your ‘King’ might better decide how to act in regard to the fraudulent contract.”

Your voice was clear, focused and factual. A few of the women in the gallery feigned gasps at your boldness. You almost rolled your eyes at their dramatics, and hoped whoever they were acting for was worth the embarrassment.

When you were instructed to cast your spell you carefully lined a small circle on the ground with salt and placed your talisman in the center.

With a few well placed gestures a smoke-like screen appeared and those who looked at it were drawn into the spell, seeing the memories you chose.

The first memory held the striking image of your mother, in all her regal glory. The two of you sat in the library reading through her favorite play. During a break your mother rang for tea but instead of her lady in waiting, was treated by your father. He’d brought only the one cup, “Sorry little one, just for Ro right now.” His words sparked an unsettling feeling in your stomach while your mother, surprised at the gesture, thanked him and drank the tea.

He retreated immediately, and although you couldn’t shake the unnerving feeling returned to your reading. Halfway through the climax, where the prince seeks revenge for his father’s murder, your mother stopped breathing. Just for a moment but your felt the change in the air.Your magick sparked along your skin and worry set in. 

She appeared asleep, unusual for this play which usually stirred her spirits until the two of you were reading together. Terrified of what you might feel you hesitantly took her hand in yours, and screamed from the immense pain you could sense.

You leapt away from her out of instinct, your wavering and mumbling voice throwing spells and prayers towards her, while screaming for help. Nothing was working. None of the spells of restoration, health, or stasis.

“Little-One what’ve you done?” Your father’s voice interrupted your panicked administrations. You grabbed his hand and tried to have him help you. Pleading with him for her life as servants entered and someone ran for the doctor.

“At this point,” he sneered at you, “I’d try necromancy instead of those charms.” You turned quickly and screamed for him to leave, before returning to your mother. You knelt on the ground and held her limp hands in yours, her skin starting to discolor. You recited countless incantations, your voice growing hoarse limbs heavy with dispair. She never woke up, remaining unresponsive for two more days before her death. The memory ended with her body shrouded in hazy gauze and flowers, laid out for her wake.

The next memory was from your younger years, you were running circles around your mother, catching butterflies. Tiny footfalls interrupted the idyllic scene as another little girl entered the memory. She appeared to be your duplicate, an exact copy, your twin. In the background your father lingered in the shade of a barren tree, listing as one of the children asked “mumma why can’t I make the pretty lights dance like sissy does?”

The sound of your mother’s voice nearly sent you reeling. “You’ll understand when you’re older, but it’s how the gods decided who will become Queen, and who will become her advisor.”

“Oh! Like you and Aunt Dahlia?”

Your mother nodded while the child giggled, “Well that’s okay, I don’t want to be queen anyway! I wanna be a dancer!” Her little voice echoed as she twirled around.

The memory changed to the next night, you were in the library learning a new spell. Your mother guided your fingers over the runes, committing their shape to memory when a surprised scream tore through the castle followed by a sickening thud and torturous silence.

Your mother bade you stay put, while leaving to inspect the commotion. But her reverberating sobs commanded your frightened feet to move. You had never heard your mother cry before. The heap of tangled skirts at the bottom of the stairs confused you, convinging you to step closer. It was only then you noticed the all too familiar strands of hair, and the small fingers twisted into strange angles.

A flurry of servants crowded into the space, attending to your crumpled sister, and inconsolable mother. You quietly tugged on your mother’s skirt, “What will happen to us now mumma?”

“More importantly,” your father interrupted from the top of the stairs, “What will happen to the kingdom?” No one had heard his approach but how could they over the sobs?

Your mother shot a glare at him, before turning to kneel and hold your hands. She recounted your first brush with death, a little bird trapped in brambles, and how just like that, once the doctor came and saw Jocelyn, together you’d get to say goodbye, all the while tears in her eyes.

“But if she isn’t gonna come back I’ll have to pick a new advisor!” You said pouting, yet making sure to enunciate the syllables carefully, still to young to understand their permanence of death. The memory didn’t retain your mother’s response, as your focus was drawn by a strange noise. Your father’s grip on the railing had tightened with your question, the old wood splintering angrily into his hand.

Behind him a young maid darted into view. Her eyes were frantic searching for your mother, only to have her freeze upon being confronted by your father.

Her fear was so evident, she squeaked trying to back away. Unwilling to share the memories of a child’s funeral you late the image fade before ending the spell.

“He killed the wrong sister.” You spoke, pulling the court’s attention to you.

“It is our law that if the gods deemed none of our heirs deserving of magick, that their Queen Mother might rule instead... without a Queen Mother, an advisor or trusted consort might act as regent until the next successor is named.”

You kept your eyes trained forward, hoping the direct attention would prompt the Allfather’s response.

“Are there any who could speak to these assertions?” A noble asked pointedly filling the empty space.

“Yes, what of the servant? Can she not be produced to confirm your suspicions?” Another chimed in, pushing the matter. You nodded and gestured for your lady’s maid to approach you. Her face was stained with fresh tears, her heart heavy with renewed grief. You hoped, to some end justice would prevail so the gods might forgive what you were about to do.

“This is the woman in question. After the incident she became my personal companion and assistant-“

“And why can’t she tell us herself!”

“Because,” you said taking a measured breath to steady your resolve, “the next morning she was found, her tongue cut out.” You glanced in her direction as she sorrowfully opened her mouth to the abject horror of your questioners.

Odin struck his staff against the floor, demanding silence as he prepared his response, silencing the hecklers.

“No proof has been shown against this contract, only the speculation. And I’ll not interfere in another kingdom’s political entrapments.” He spoke carefully, weighing all the possible meanings of each word.

You interjected politely, “Allfather, I was not asking you to. I simply wanted you to know from whom you’ve bought me.”

The clever assertion almost brought a smile to the King’s face. Although you had no way of knowing his previous decision, your wit comforted him that he was at least giving his kingdom someone with intelligence.

“That being said, in honoring this arrangement I’m forced to acknowledge the claims of your birth. With the context you have provided us, It would disgrace your Queen Mother and your right as her heir to pawn you off to some noble already home with two wives.” 

You almost laughed aloud, thinking at least that oddly specific fear was addressed.

“Instead I’d rather strengthen this alliance, in marrying my son.”

“ _Ah yes_ ,” you thought, “ _The absentee hero_.” You were thankful to stay within the familiar and welcoming household, and more grateful still for the support towards your heritage. But, Gods that would be boring.  Marrying Thor would be marrying a fleeting bird. His appearances on Asgard were scattered and unpredictable, despite the advantageous match it would condemn you to the life of a favored toy. To be used and remembered at the whims of an altogether preoccupied man.

“My Lady, consider this my concession that you will make a formidable Queen-“

“My King would that really be appropriate? A woman of disputed heritage as our Queen?” One of the previous questioners objected, utterly appalled.

Obviously you had missed some subtext. You had assumed the same thing, and took his assertions as your betrothal to Thor. You tried to keep your face stoic amid the pleasant but shocking revelation, that he preferred you wed Loki.For all your efforts you couldn’t prevent the slight flush that colored your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

“I have found her heritage admissible. And am I not your king?”

The man’s hurried apology and departure signaled a change in tone, the other nobles having a new scandal to gossip about. One of their own challenged the King’s authority, only to run away.

“Now barring anymore interruptions,” Odin continued, a jovial light dancing at the corners of his eyes, “Upon his coronation you will be married to Loki Odinson; Prince of Asgard, So says your King.” Despite his genial tone, the pit of your stomach turned feeling the courtroom on edge awaiting your response. Of course even after the replaying of traumas, and discussion of legitimacy, you were still expected to follow the rules of _polite_  society.

“Allfather, I thank thee. This concession is more than I expected. I hope I prove worthy of your assertions.” You prayed to all the gods of your world, the tremble in your voice wasn’t heard. You had not expected to be Queen, of this place or any. You feared, in doing so he had doomed your chances of returning home. You couldn’t be the Queen of two places so far apart. Queens couldn’t overthrow their fathers or go to war.

You couldn’t compose your loud thoughts as Halla lead you from the room. It wasn’t a bad match, under any other circumstances you’d be thrilled with the prospects of taking a King as your consort. But you weren’t taking a consort, you were being given as a bride. Waves of sound echoed in your ears, mostly your thoughts but partially something else, potentially someone else. You couldn’t tell, the noises were all a stabbing crescendo of tangled words and fears of failure building up and up and up until you were swimming in noise and you couldn’t breathe. Oh gods you couldn’t breathe and your chest restricted so that your heart hurt and you were falling.

Thankfully, you were already down the hallway and Halla caught you in enough time. Your body was failing you, you were dying- that had to be it. Halla guided your shaking form behind a pillar away from prying eyes. She gripped your hand, tracing the rune for “panic” slowly and deliberately until your breathing slowed, and you could think again.

You whispered your thanks, and let Halla lead you to your room and into bed. Despite the midday sun peering through from the balcony, your mind was exhausted and sleep quickly followed.


	4. Fixation or Psychosis

It was too early for you to deal with this, you decided looking over your ‘debut’ dress.

You’d been permitted two days solace to mourn away from the gossip of the palace. Jocelyn had only been a child. Sometimes you’d dream you were her, living out the adventures she might’ve had. Sometimes you dreamed her spirit came to you, wondering why you got to live. Usually you didn’t thank about her, but now faced with the delicate gown, in the prince’s colors, you couldn’t stop. This match should’ve been her’s as your advisor. This life should’ve been her’s.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Gods be good you were debuting for the first time to the entire kingdom as their future Queen. You’d been granted a safe, and secure life. One where you could practice your magick, or read at your leisure. One where no one would dare strike you or drag you from a room. Why wasn’t that enough? 

Sighing, you turned away from the gown and elected to pull on a simple tunic and bearskin leggings. Asgardians feasted for the greater part of three days and you would not be presented until that night. Quietly you instructed Halla to keep the other servants away, to pretend you were nervous and wanted to be alone.

You were desperately in need of resources, and wove your way through the deserted halls, farther away from the sounds of revelry to the palace’s library and archives. The smell of parchment, and sun-warmed leather was an instant comfort, as were the rays of sunlight peaking through the windows.

The room was much like your mother’s, and the familiarity was a welcome comfort. It took a few minutes to understand how the books were arranged. You gathered a small collection of spell books, and histories to peruse. Hopefully in studying what others did wrong through the ages you could find an answer. And if not, maybe some spell strong enough to wipe your father from existence.

“My Lady... I had not expected to see you here.”Loki interrupted your reading, unsure if he should approach. He stood stiff, awkwardly unprepared to face you. To his credit, it was against Asgardian tradition to see each other before you were presented at the feast. You were supposed to be confined to your room, preparing for the feast and accompanying ball. And under no circumstances should you be walking about in leggings and a tunic. For the first time ever, you wished you had worn more clothes.

“I’m sorry my Lord,” you curtsied lightly, “I had need of a good book.” It wasn’t a complete falsehood, but you didn’t want to offend him any further by admitting your conflicting plans for revenge.

Loki walked to your side, reaching around you for a book that hadn’t been there before. He lightly placed it in your hands.

“I think this might prove more helpful in your research than those faded histories.”

The book was much smaller, bound in dark leather and clasped closed with a dark ribbon. Aware of his closeness, and intent gaze, you gingerly untied the ribbon and opened the cover. The interior was inscribed with his mother’s name, followed by his own. For a moment, you wondered how an Asgardian spell book could help you. Although you could learn his, and he yours, they were two different sorts of magick from very different sources.

Loki carefully stepped closer, and reached around you to turn the pages. He stopped on a binding spell, the kind your mother used to do every harvest so the land might prosper along with her. This was your brand of magick. He’d been studying your magick.

You smiled, and snuck a glance as he read the spell to you, describing how his mother had perfected it. His eyes kept drawing your attention. Their deep green reminded you of the forests back home: lovely and dark, the most peaceful place for a witch like yourself.

It’s a shame, you thought, I cannot have both justice for my family, and this life presented before me.. I think, I could like him...charming as he is. And quite attractive. You spent a moment to long thinking on his dark hair, wondering what it’d be like to wind your fingers in, before blinking yourself back to reality.

You heard a slight laugh next to you, and suddenly you were very aware of how close Loki was, heat still prickling your cheeks.

“And what’s so funny?” You said uncomfortable with being his focus.

Loki said nothing, only casting a mischievous grin in your direction. A full flush covered your face as you felt, almost certainly he had heard you. Perhaps you’d spoken out loud? Or perhaps he could tell from your face what you’d been thinking.

Quietly you thanked him for the book and promised to return it, quickly walking back to your room. As you snuck back inside you realized how tense you were, your entire body a strange state of embarrassment and frustration at the encounter. He had been perfectly civil, kind even. But there was something in the way his eyes seemed to laugh, that was absolutely none of those things.

A flurry of knocks came at the door and you could hear servants tittering anxiously. They usually spent an entire day preparing a lady for presentation, the time alone giving them room to gather gossip, the only currency important in the palace.

You tossed the book onto your bed, and tied a silk robe around you, overly conscious of the scandalous nature of the leggings. The only gossip they’d have from you would be your request for lavender oil, two drops behind each ear, one on each breast, and one on your stomach. The oil was a way of anointing you before the gods, signaling your acceptance of their plan. And the flower extract would imbue your powers with strength. Back home, these were the first steps in any courtship or betrothal. A symbolic way of pleasing the gods and thanking them for your partner.

To have entered into the night without it, would’ve been sacrilege. Although back home, couples performed the ritual together, pledging together, setting the tone of their relationship in equality and respect. You hoped your mother’s spirit wasn’t watching as you pledged alone.

You were permitted that small moment of reverence before the servants swarmed you again demanding you be dressed. The gown’s delicate swirls of iridescent lace shifted colors under the lights, and the dark green silk stood out against your skin. It was as if, the gown had been made for you, in how it hung on your hips but not your stomach, how it shaped your chest without a corset and still made your soft waist appear smaller without the confines. Even the softness of your arms were covered by dramatic bell-sleeves, detailed with little golden brambles that also tangled their way across your waist.

It was a shame, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.The woman looking back at you from the mirror seemed two sizes too small to be you. For the first time in days, you wondered when your bruises faded away. Their purple hues had been an incessant reminder of your father, and of your purpose. Without them you felt like a doll painted and ready to go on the shelf. Yet, behind the deceptive gown and the careful twists and curls of your hair, it was you. Somehow after everything, it was still you under there.

Although the servants would certainly talk about it, you defiantly sat at the vanity and arranged your own makeup. It was tradition to use ceremonial ashes from spells bound by fire as a talisman for uncertain situations, and carefully you patted the soft gray dust onto your eyelids. Not enough to be opaque, only a touch of shadow to your otherwise bright face. Carefully you lined your eyes with kohl, as your mother taught you to years ago.

With the thought you realized there was no one to celebrate your debut, no one left recognizing your betrothal. Even though you were actively trying to leave Asgard, this was a moment in your life meant to be celebrated with family. Other than Halla, no one was left. There would be no one to receive you tonight, no representative to acknowledge the albeit unwanted, occasion.

You stood suddenly and moved to kneel in prayer on the balcony. You held your palms skyward in your lap, and closed your eyes. The lingering servants didn’t recognize the language you spoke, and fled in distress and a need to share what they thought they’d seen the witch do. In truth you only recited words of protection, but as the rumors spread you became a frightening creature gnarled by black magick, or laying a malevolent curse across the entire place. The language was the old tongue of your homeland. One only preserved by those touched with magick. You’d done nothing but pray, or did you?

Rising you allowed Halla to help sweep the light dust off your skirts. As the moon drew closer, you bade her remove the complicated twists and braids in your hair. The loose feeling relieved a headache you hadn’t noticed at the base of your skull. If you could no longer decided how to dress yourself, you could at least retain control of your hair.

A light knock on the door signaled the time had come for your debut. Thor was waiting for you in the hall, dressed in his armor, befitting his place as a decorated hero.

“My Lady,” he said bowing.

You returned the gesture with a polite but short curtesy, “My Lord, in truth I did not expect you.”

Thor offered you his arm, indicating he would be your representative.

“My brother reminded me how strange it can be alone in a new place, and bade me find someone suitable to stand with you tonight. Unfortunately we have no one of rank to stand beside a queen of your dedication and caliber.”

When you smiled, you could tell he was proud of himself.

“I do apologize but you’ll have to make do with me as your representative.” He said relaxing with your laugh.

You weren’t alone. No, not alone at all apparently. Thor’s bright and energetic aura set your energy in a positive light as you drew nearer to the great hall. You noticed the guards’ disapproving stares. Feeling again, on trial for your very existence when under any other circumstance they’d be overjoyed to have an excuse to drink. You were thankful for Thor’s support, knowing whatever thoughts they held would remain as thoughts within his presence. Although he would not be their king, none would dare cross him. Not so boldly, at least.

They opened the doors, and stood aside for a herald to announce your arrival.

“Presenting: Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard, escorting Queen-“ All the color ran from the herald’s face realizing his blunder almost immediately, “Lady-“.

The correction didn’t matter, the damage already done. The entire room of onlookers, servants, and nobility buzzed in shock. You couldn’t even hear him say your name over the roar.

The two of you walked up the make shift aisle through the crowd. As the throne came into view you felt a pang in your heart. There, on Odin’s right your mother should’ve stood: crowned in all her glory proud beyond belief at her daughter’s match. The match, you thought again, that should’ve been Jocelyn’s. It would’ve been amazing for your mother, two daughters each queens of different kingdoms. At the thought you wondered had they lived, how the arrangement would’ve been brokered between honest hands.

Again you were struck with gratitude for Thor. You’d never learned the words to use in the presenting of an Asgardian betrothal. It was something you’d never need to know until it was your place as Queen Mother to do the presenting.

Loki stood before the throne, and offered you his arm as Thor stood next to his father as your representative. You lightly laced your arm in his, and took a moment to appreciate the similar gold-and-green of his uniform. A small smiled played on your face as you saw the ceremonial braid in his hair. Again, lingering just a moment too long wondering what it would be like to run the dark strands through your fingers.

Although you knew he couldn’t speak out of turn within the betrothal ceremony you felt his voice in the back of your skull, urging you to look him in the eyes. And for the first time, you wondered what it would be like to tell him “no”, too continue looking over his broad shoulders, the graceful slant of his jaw, and never acknowledge his request. You noticed a light flush on his cheeks as you returned his gaze. For a delightfully blessed moment the room almost seemed to melt away, the only thing in your mind the deep forests of his eyes and what secrets might hide there. A small smile rose to his face, so soft and unsure if it belonged there.

“I, Thor Odinson, Crown Prince of Asgard stand in memory of Queen Mother Rowena and in her name present her daughter, and heir to be married.”

“As the King of this realm I accept your offering and consent to her marriage into my household.” Odin spoke with a tone of finality that made you nervous, “My last act as your King, is to set such a day within the next two years.”

Two years, could the gods be so cruel? Within two months your entire home could lay in ruins. Within two years, any support you had could be wiped out. The rousing applause felt like hail storms against your reeling mind. As the ceremony concluded Thor returned to your side to congratulate his brother. As the two talked you were approached by a group of noblewomen, who greeted you warmly and asked you to sit with them a while. After hearing them drone on about themselves for quite a while you no longer remembered their names.

The eldest of the three had golden hair wound up in more braids than you could count. By her conservative dress you knew she was either married or determined to be unwed. The youngest by contrast had her dark hair swept up in tangles of curls atop her head, drawing the eye down her slender neck to focus on her gown. She was a tiny little thing, hardly any softness to her body as was common in Asgardian women, who either appeared as waifs, crones, or soldiers. In contrast to her slim body, her dress was sinfully tight and bodice hazardously unlaced. Although certainly this meant she was unwed, her wrists and fingers shone with jewels too expensive to have been bought on her own.

“So how are you adjusting to life in a palace?” one of the others asked, she was slightly rounder than you, a result of her two children. By the way she sat with the other two, and the growing group, told you she was familiar with these women. It disturbed you, how well they all seemed to know each other.

“Well, it’s different from the castle I grew up in. The architecture here is so graceful and striking, our castle is all brick and stone, more of a fortress than a place to hold court.” The mother who’s name you also forgotten appeared confused by your answer, the older woman simply shook her head in disdain.

The younger woman laughed, purposefully drawing attention to your small group. Of course, you thought, everyone loves a good show and she seems to know how to entertain.

She tossed her head from side to side, preening under the anticipated attention.

“You were raised in a castle?! How generous of your Queen Mother Rowena.”

The subtext wasn’t lost on you and you felt a strong temptation to strike her as your mother’s name fell from her lips.

“Pardon me, but I neglect to understand the generosity of raising one’s child.” You spoke plainly with an even tone, as not to cause a scene.

“Oh well I suppose not for your people. But here, we don’t usually take in our Husband’s bastards!”

The mother laughed along and interjected, “Oh no dear you misunderstand. She’s Queen Mother Rowena’s bastard!”

Their eyes had a starkness to them that reminded you of your father’s before you hexed him. Your magick would’ve been wasted on them, your fingers itching to tear them apart. None of them had any right to say her name. You swore silently if they said it again you’d drag them from this hall and very quickly become the monster being gossiped about.

You held your tongue, watching the older woman intently. She didn’t laugh, yet only watched waiting to see what you would do, ultimately disappointed in your inaction. “Oi stop playing fools you two!You heard what the maids were saying, wouldn’t want to incur her black magick would’ya!”

You felt your eyes grow wide, unable to think the words to defend your self. Unable to think. By the gods, black magick? As you saw the gleeful looks on the woman’s face it became a very tempting option.

Their laughs choked up as you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Come pet,” Loki said grasping your arm to help you up, “They’re the second wives of lesser sons. Nothing to waste your time on.” You let him steer you away from the women, now flushed in anger.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you whispered through clenched teeth.

“As if I could just let you make a fool of yourself. Their husbands are valuable assets and had you killed them-“

“Killed them!?” You interrupted him, “I think you’re mistaken, my Lord, on who exactly I am.”

“You’re not a very good liar, pet.” He hissed in return, on instinct you moved to strike him, only stopped as caught your hand. “Tempting. But they don’t exactly need another reason to dislike you.”

You scoffed and suddenly felt so small. There were hundreds of people around you feasting and celebrating. Even those women, after being placated with compliments and mead, were enjoying themselves. Yet here you stood almost certain no one would notice if you slipped back to your room.  For a moment you thought about Loki, similarly out of place, but knew there were others here desperate for any attention who could entertain him. 

Loki grimaced, hearing your private musings. He hated the women of the court, and felt disturbed at the idea of entertaining them. There were few things these women were good for and public company wasn’t one of them.

“Perhaps we’d both benefit from a drink?” Loki offered thinking the wine might help clear your head. When you didn’t respond he carefully watched you looking across the room. Despite your presence, he sensed you were very far away.

“If I may speak plainly, I know this is not what you hoped would happen. This is not the rousing support you need, nor am I an agreeable companion-“ You cut him off gently, placing your hand on his arm.

“It is strange, you know. To be transplanted like an organ into a world that is not mine yet must be. I’m surrounded with an actual future, one that last week I thought ended in my death as it had for the rest of my family. And yet I cannot stop thinking of what I must do, and this life it will cost me. So, yes, my Lord, I would appreciate a drink. But at no fault of your own.” 

The two of you drank in silence the weight of your conflicted confession lingering. You wished you were home, among the forest of trees, your mother waiting for you to return for dinner. The soft damp of the grass on your feet, the delightful cold and smoke in the air. In that forest, there would be time for princes, and betrothals.

Your heart ached at the thought, when was the last time you’d been permitted outside? The ground from which you drew your strength had become a stranger to you.

“I remember your mother,” you said quietly, finally looking at Loki. “I was too young to know who she was but she visited once. Brought mother a flower or something we couldn’t grow. She was so bright, when she entered the room it was like I felt the sun on my skin.”

For a moment, Loki struggled to find the right words, the ones that would tell you how he missed that warmth, and how he remembered your mother as well. How she sat in the garden showing his mother to encourage the very sun to turn on command. How he saw glimmers of that memory in your face, and how you too shone so brightly it was like being in the presence of the full moon. But the words didn’t come. Just the overwhelmed expression of grief and uncertainty on how to proceed.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to...” you let the sentence fade, embarrassed with the impression you must be making.

He shushed you quietly and offered to escort you back to your room. You felt a twinge of disappointment, knowing he tired of your company in such a short time.

Outside your door, he stopped you, speaking lowly in fervent tones, “I cannot offer you soldiers, or promises of them. Instead I offer you this, think of me not as your betrothed, but instead an ally. I cannot do so now, but I will absolve this contract if you wish, and I’ll do what possible to restore you to your proper place.”

His intense gaze ensured you he meant every syllable in the small declaration of treason. To forsake the contract, would mean undoing his father’s last act as king, something almost unheard of. Truthfully Loki was entranced with your brightness, how easily and quickly your mind worked. Your exhausted eyes alone, convinced him to usher you to rest. The immense resilience in your soul, inspiring the rest.

“I intend to call on you tomorrow morning, there’s much to discuss,” Loki kissed your hand and bade you goodnight. The walk to his quarters was preoccupied with thoughts of the moon, and of a book he hoped could be found among his private library.


	5. the Final Judgment

Overwhelmed by plans you were not privy to, you hurriedly retreated to your bedroom. Quietly you undressed and let yourself soak in the bath for a while, trying in vain to clear the noises of your mind.

As your mind wandered you thought, “but what if I don’t want to end the contract? My father can’t live forever perhaps it would be best to outlive the bastard...my hexes are typically reliable” Compared to a week ago, locked in your room unsure if you would live or join Jocelyn and your mother, this was so much better. Loki seemed to be a different man than what you had heard, and you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. Hadn’t you fought enough?

Sighing you rose from the bath, more confused than when you entered. It would be easy to quit but, your mother deserved a better legacy than a daughter who refused to fight for her homeland, for her people. Wasn’t that the entire point of being their queen, to protect them?

Returning to your bedroom, you noticed a new plush robe laid out on the bed. As you lifted it up, you were enveloped with the smells of the forest. Although you couldn’t see in the dark, you knew the fabric had been dyed a rich and dark hunter’s green. You pulled it on, and at long last pulled yourself into bed. Between the woodsy scent of the robe, and the cool breeze coming in from the balcony, you were lulled into a deep sleep.

You dreamed of Loki, the two of you walking barefoot in the forests of your childhood, stopping to note every blossoming memory. When you woke the next morning, you could almost feel the grass on your feet.

Halla was surprised to see you so relaxed and couldn’t hide her smile as she entered the room. You blushed lightly as she shot a questioning glance at your state of undress, prompting you to tie the mysterious robe closed. Had she been able to, Halla would’ve laughed at your faux modesty. As you stood to greet her, she pressed a small package into your hands.

The paper faded away with a flick of your wrist, revealing a note and a worn and delicate book.

 _I apologize for not being able to give you this in person,_  
_upon waking this morning Thor and I were called away on royal_ _matters.  
I wished to leave you with some reassurance of my intentions._

The neatly scrawled note wasn’t signed, but as with most documents penned by a person with some magic, it held traces of it’s author. You were surprised to find Loki’s magick didn’t feel abrasive or maleficent, but curious. You sat down and opened the book, dropping it in shock as you glanced the first handwritten page. Halla stooped to retrieve the book, but upon glancing the page froze.

Desperately you grabbed it from the floor and ran your fingertips over the letters, feeling the familiar spark of magick. The book had been written by your mother, it’s leather binding showing her neat stitches as confirmation. The inscription read, “ _to my oldest and most dear friend, may this volume inspire magicks for you and your kin, forever yours -Rowena_ ”.

You instructed the servants that you were still tired from the night’s festivities and wished to be left alone. You spent the day, sitting on your bed, surrounded with the smells of the forest, reading through the pages. Towards the center of the volume you found different magick traces in the marginalia. The languid looping script, belonged to Loki’s mother. Running your fingers over the notes, you felt her warmth. The responding notes, expanding on her ideas were certainly Loki’s, although not as concentrated nor developed as the note he had sent you that morning, the magick was certainly his.

Towards sunset Halla brought you spiced mead and a little bread to tempt you from your focus. You nibbled lightly demonstrating a new spell, until Halla snatched the book away.

You started to reprimand her, stopping as she traced the rune for “why” into your palm. You grasped her hand in yours trying to sense what she wanted to say to you.

 _What does he want from you?_  
_Why this book?_  
_Why now?_

You didn’t know, why this book or why now or why he was helping you at all. But you knew how to find out.

The next day you awoke early, determined to play the palace’s women at their own game. To loosen their tongues you dabbed peppermint oil behind your ears, and wore a dark tunic and leggings, opting at the last minute to go barefoot. You felt no matter what they’d have something to say and if that was the case, you could at least live as you liked.

You started at the servants’ quarters, where they were more than willing to talk on and on. Unfortunately, for the record, you already knew the rumors surrounding Loki’s fall from grace, and the heroism that restored him in his father’s favor. And that was all anyone seemed to be sure of. Some women told you he was a wild brute of a man, driven mad with power. Others insisted he was some sort of deviant set to ruin his family’s good reputation. But mostly, you found they only knew he was not Thor; and little else mattered in comparison to the bulkier, happier brother.It was as if, instead of living as a prince Loki existed as a shadow content to go unknown as he desired it.

The other women milling about were of no help. The few gathered outside gossiping and working at some sort of sewing or project, laughed at your questions. They could only recount more rumors of vague encounters, resigning instead to ask if you would join them in the sun, sketching or practicing whatever craft you enjoyed. They seemed sincere but, your craft was primarily writing, one best suited for solitude. None of them seemed bothered in the slightest with your admission and excuse.

Returning to your room you paced the floor lightly, contemplating seeking out the soldiers. Enough women were within their ranks that someone must’ve heard something, or seen something concrete in the sense of character. But even that felt like an unlikely source of information.

You wandered onto your balcony, stretching your arms over the railing, letting the wind run over your skin. The little whispers caught along the gusts reminded you of the stories older women would tell when you were a child. Stories of the spirits that were so far from the goddess that they could only be heard on the wind.

Halla brought your evening meal as the sun was setting, pulling you back into your room. She moved as if possessed tying you up in blankets, terrified at how cold your skin had felt. You had stood on the balcony possibly for hours, not once feeling the cold covering your skin. You were comforted by Halla’s care and attempted to assure her of your health. In the end you promised to rest for the evening, and ate your meal followed by a very hot cup of tea.

Although there were no real whispers on the wind, the time in contemplation had given you an idea. Although the library was largely comprised of archives and noteworthy volumes- there should be some account of your betrothed either from a contemporary or His late mother’s collections. It was worth a try, even if you found nothing, it would be a delightful place to relax and enjoy the quiet company of the tomes.

You waited until Halla returned to her own rooms to leave your’s. The library was lit by the soft glow of yellowed lamps, and became almost cozy once you lit a fire in the grand fireplace. You were tempted to choose a volume and curl up near the fire, losing yourself entirely to it’s contents. Yet the curiosity gnawing at your mind won out. 

After an eternity of combing the racks, you found three books with some promise. One recounted the royal family, another a collection of the Allmother’s letters, and the last a record of the incidents surrounding the Allmother’s death, and her son’s redemption.

The latter you started but ultimately could not finish as each page hurt to turn, the memories of the Allmother and your Queen Mother too fresh to touch. The history also resulted in little new information but did confirm some of the rumors regarding Loki’s escapade on Earth. It was common knowledge he had been controlled by a much stronger force, yet it comforted you to see it written out.

The letters offered your best chance, filled with little things mother’s carried with them and shared slowly over time whether they knew or not. Halla eventually found you out, and unable to force you back to your room, brought you tea and a shrug to keep you warm. Had she not looked so concerned you might’ve laughed, the room was plenty warm enough.

As footsteps approached you almost laughed, wondering what more Halla might’ve wanted with you. You were surprised to see Thor enter the room instead. He stopped short surprised at seeing you as well.

“My Lady, I hope I am not disturbing you,” he said.

“No worries,” you said smiling opting for a little white lie, “I felt restless and longed for a good book.”

Thor looked puzzled for a moment before deciding to speak plainly, “we’ve just returned and I had thought Lady Sif might be hiding away in here.”

You smiled lightly, “No, I haven’t the pleasure of meeting her yet, however I hear she speaks quite highly about you... and hardly anyone else.” Thor blushed lightly at being found out, and awkwardly mumbled a ‘goodnight’ before turning from the room.

As he left you quickly stood, needing to put away these books and retire. You’d read more than enough of the letters to have a good grasp of things, but desired time to think before being confronted. Unfortunately, you’d hardly moved to return the first volume when you felt someone approaching from the hall.

You glanced about you quickly to see if any of those volumes might serve as a cover, only to find none that would make any sense in tandem with the others. No matter how slight, you knew Loki would notice the discrepancy. You entertained the idea of lying, acting as if you were about to retire, and those books were not yours. That you’d already sorted yours away and someone else had left the three volumes out.

As Loki entered the room, you resolved to tell the entire embarrassing truth if required. He was one man you could not fool with a simple lie. He was in an intense state of disarray, as if whatever matters they’d taken care of had turned violent. You couldn’t help but think, it wasn’t a bad look for him.

“Did you know your lady’s maid is quite concerned?” He started, chastising you. 

You scoffed and leaned back on the table you had been standing in front of. Trying to string words together, surprised by his concern, “there’s no reason for Halla-“

“Are you sure? She sounded quite determined that you were freezing to death.”

“And do tell me, my Lord how she told you that? Unless you listened to her thoughts uninvited.” You spoke in jest, fully aware of how he heard you that second night thinking about his hair, and how he asked you to look at him during your debut.

Loki smirked instead of giving an answer, for the first time glancing at what you had been reading. The open pages held a letter he recognized immediately as being in his mother’s hand.

He stepped forward looking closer, “and pray tell Pet, what subject have you been studying that’s brought you to my mother’s private things?”

You permitted a light blush to settle over your face, “the subject, my Lord? Naturally, you.” You shifted your gaze in a coquettish manner, away from his person.

“I had wondered what sort of man proposes treason as a wedding present,” you teased lightly snapping your eyes back to his.

Loki grinned and stepped closer, standing lax, his arms behind his back. “And tell me pet,” he said sardonically cocking an eyebrow, “what sort of man am I?”

You were enjoying this too much. You raked your eyes over his lithe form under the guise of studying him. The darkness of his hair illuminated the deep green of his eyes, and although he was slim you could see the strength written in his muscles.

“You’re hardly a man. Not as I’ve known them.” You started, slowly walking around him as if you were an animal circling its prey. “There’s something more to you. Something much darker, smarter...stronger-“ You lightly dragged your fingertips over his back noticing the tension curled up like a spring in his shoulders.

Returning in front of him, you batted your eyes and produced a coy smile, “Tell me dear husband, is that the kind of man you are?” You tried to remain serious, but couldn’t as you saw the bewildered expression on his face. You laughed lightly, and relaxed back onto the desk covering your mouth.

“I’m sorry my Lord, in truth I was trying to find a reason why you would aide me but unfortunately, that-“ You gestured implicating your previous list, “-was all I truly discovered. You’re quite elusive.”

Loki scoffed lightly, unable to hide the smile that came to his face. Of course you knew all the stories of his past, his true heritage. But considering he bore witness to the public showings of your trauma, you elected to spare the rehashing of his. But you saw the reservation he still held, unsure if your acceptance was just another joke. If you were going to have any sort of a partnership, he needed to know: “I don’t care what you are,” you said lowly now unable to match his gaze with the weight of what you were saying, “I’ve no reservations about who you are or what you’ve done. How could I? You’ve been promised a bride, while all I can think of is revenge.” 

For a moment there was perfect silence, no thoughts, no sounds- not even from the fireplace. But then- the air tensed like a storm preparing to break. 


	6. Secondhand Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super vague “feelings” magic, slight romantic feels dubiously shared, and smut!

The tension in the room weighed down the air around you like the humidity before a storm. You felt a shiver trickle down your spine, goosebumps peppering your skin. For a split second you contemplated using a spell to get away, unsure of what would happen once the storm broke.

In a quiet flurry of motion you found yourself in his arms, your head tucked into his chest. He smelled sweetly of smoke and sandalwood, setting your tense mind at ease. You felt him softly kiss the top of your head, as he pressed his hand in yours. The small action flooded you with his feelings. This was magick you didn’t know, and for a moment you were overwhelmed by the tangle of memories and feelings surging within the spell.

Then you felt it, the small yet persistent light which held your name and all the small words and motions you’d made since arriving. You saw yourself arriving bruised head held high, a pang of pride when you insisted your title. You felt his quiet concern after parting for the night, and the small spell he cast to help you sleep. A strange moment of hope when the Allfather called you  _queen_.  Then the embarrassment over such intense and boyish feelings for someone so new and unknown. Overwhelmingly, how reverently he regarded you like the moon strong and shining cold and bright. He understood your need for justice, conflating it with his own and you were shocked to feel his resolution in restoring that justice, if only to make you smile on your way out.

When he dropped your hand, it was like being cast out into a vast void, as if nothing was real anymore. You blushed deeply, suddenly aware of his closeness. When you looked up, Loki was struggling to maintain his composure all too aware of how much he had shown you and far too familiar with rejection.

For a moment it felt like you couldn’t breath, and you worried another bout of panic would sweep you away. You hadn’t expected this, if all the things you’d heard about Loki this sort of feeling was unimaginable. Yet it wasn’t the worst thing to have discovered. Of all the surprises you’ve had this was the most pleasant. Despite his notoriety as a skilled liar, the magick itself could only relay the truth. 

You expected his reasons to be nefarious, some sort of conqueror seeking to manipulate you into his home for the purpose of usurping your throne. Or worse, someone seeking to destroy you, for no reason at all. Perhaps, you thought, he wasn’t as deviant as gossip portrayed him.

“Pet,” He crooned grinning wickedly at you, “have you been thinking much towards my deviance?” The suggestive glint in his eyes almost made you blush, the innuendo a bold turn from the safety of silent communication.

The attention wasn’t unwanted, how many times had you considered his hair? Dark, and silky and what it might feel like to grasp and pull between your fingers... or his strong arms and how secure they’d felt around you for that brief second? And now the way he grinned was absolutely sinful, the gentle slope of his lips making way for indecent thoughts and reassuring you of just how deviant he could be.You remembered during your debut the quick flush spreading over his skin as he heard you wonder what it might be like to hold him there in a moment of refusal, and now you wondered if that flush applied to prolonged refusal in other areas too.

You noticed the smell of lavender, faint and almost distant. The scent puzzled you for a moment before you looked back to Loki’s eyes. They no longer held the teasing they had a moment before, as he listened to your thoughts trying to piece together this new information.Even knowing your plans to act against the contract, Loki had followed your traditions and applied the small drops of lavender oil before the feast. You'd noticed the light smell on yourself but thought it was a remnant left on your sheets. The small traditional ritual lingered as a testament to the unspoken commitment made before your gods. And all of this he did for you, the push to end the contract, following your faith all the while knowing you weren’t going to be his. Knowing he was gaining nothing from the exchange but possibly your happiness.

Your small smile had Loki lacing his arms around your waist keeping you there.  The skin under hands on your lower back ached at the touch, and sent a delicious shock through your body.

You regarded him fondly, admiring his eyes. They were dark with desire, and underneath it all you saw an intense desire to be, do, and give you everything you could possibly want... You let your hands smooth over his chest, trailing your fingertips along his jawline before running your fingers through his hair. It was pleasantly soft and you decided to ask later to braid it. For now you were content to lace your fingers in the dark strands. You arched towards him, lingering fractions away from his lips.

If you kissed him, there would be no going back. You felt again how the tension had built to a breaking point, and heard how heavily the two of you were breathing. For an awful second you faltered, suddenly unsure of your place there pressed against him. Unsure of yourself and your softness and your round edges and how absolutely different Loki was and how truly he felt for you. 

You blinked, cleaning your mind. You wanted this. You wanted _him_.

As you crashed your lips hungrily against his,nothing else mattered. Your mind was silently consumed with how perfectly he smelled of lavender and smoke, and how his hands now gripped your hips.Desperate and starved for his touch you moved yourself back to sit on the desk, pulling him back into a searing kiss wrapping your legs around his hips. Loki deepened the kiss, thoroughly exploring your mouth and noting all the small noises it coaxed from you.

He wanted you the second you walked into the palace, from the moment you corrected his father on your title he’d thought you the smartest woman he’d ever known, and would’ve begged to be with you as you now were. Your soft edges and curves felt like heaven against his sharper body, and he was quickly motivated to feel every inch of that skin.

You moaned softly as Loki moved to pepper kisses from your jaw to the base of your neck where he scraped his teeth across your pulse point. The sensation sent a wave of arousal through your veins, adding to the growing desire coiled in your core.

Loki kissed his way back to your lips, capturing them again for only a moment before moving to kiss your earlobe. His hot breath and needy hands on your waist made your head feel dizzy. He gave the lobe a light tug, causing you to arch into him.

You whispered his name, mouth dry with desire, silently demanding more.

“Do not tempt me pet” he growled.

You pressed your hands over his and guided them to the neckline of your tunic. You pressed his hands to your chest and ordered him to tear the fabric.

Your direct demand brought new desire into Loki’s eyes and he complied harshly tearing the fabric as if it was no more than paper. You felt deliciously exposed under his gaze, as he absorbed the sight of your overflowing curves and the freckles that dotted your chest.

Within seconds his hands were pulling and kneading your breasts making you roll your hips against his. The teasing boiled within you, prompting you to claw at his shirt and trousers. He laughed at your attempts, yet quickly complied in shrugging off his garments and hooking his thumbs in the band of your leggings. He waited for your hurried nod and impatient squirms to yank them off.

Loki gripped your hips, and pulled them to the edge of the table, before slowly pushing inside you. You moaned and laid back against the table. You’d been with other men, but none as long and thick as he was. You felt your arousal spread as he stretched you. Loki skillfully pulled your hips flush against his and permitted a moment for you to adjust to his size. You linked your legs around his hips and closed your eyes as he started thrusting.

You swore loudly as he roughly drove into you, the pace relentless. Each thrust hit that spot inside you, that made your walls quiver around him. When Loki groaned at the sensation he raked his hands down your sides and pushed deeper.

You felt his hand slide between your legs, and seek out your swollen nub. Between his sharp thrusts and ministrations, you were quickly pushed over the edge to your release. Feeling your walls tighten around him had Loki growling and finishing inside you.

You lay still on the table, panting, eyes half hooded and body feeling like it was on fire. You took a moment to catch your breath, grounded by the cool wood of the table beneath you. When you rose to dress, you noticed Loki had already done so. You no longer felt the need to blush under his gaze while you moved to find your clothes. Your leggings and torn tunic weren't among the scattered papers on the floor. 

“Here,” Loki said materializing your plush robe in his hand. “I’m not quite done with you yet.” You grinned and slipped the robe around you instantly relaxed by it’s woodsy scent, one you now connected with Loki. Smoke, and forests, and rain, just like home. You moved to wrap your arms around his neck, and ran your greedy hands over his strong arms and across his back. Within a second Loki had picked you up in his arms, “well my Queen, shall I show you to our chambers?”

You nodded wondering if you’d get to see his exact measure of deviance. Your mouth ran dry as you thought over the many things you’d read a couple could do...You knew servants would come to rearrange the library and realize what you’d done. If not then, in the morning when you weren’t anywhere to be found in your suite. But that sly grin and devious sparkle in his eyes pushed those thoughts from your head and replaced it with one: _more_.


	7. Rewrite your Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

You woke up slowly, the silk sheets tempting you to keep you eyes closed for just one more minute. You blinked the sleep from your eyes only to see you were alone in the bed, which wasn’t yours. You disentangled the sheet from around you legs, and slowly sat up pulling it over your exposed body.   
  
The room was beautiful, the walls a dark wood carved with ornate spells and symbols, the arches into antechambers hung with gauzy drapes offering the illusion of privacy, books and scrolls littered the tables and shelves as if they might be needed at any moment as dictated by a mind that thought incredibly fast.   
  
Loki lay reclined on a lounge chair in the corner, paging through a worn book. His dark hair was messy and you noticed little love bites over his neck, and scratches down his arms standing in contrast with his pristine pale skin. They made you blush, wondering if your skin was decorated and dotted under the sheet. You let yourself appreciate the loose robe, it’s black and gold threaded fabric sliding down his arms, the cord barely tied around his waist.   
  
“Is the view to your liking pet?”   
  
He spoke without looking up from his book. The brazen words sending a blush over our body, persuading you to pull the sheet under your chin.   
  
“It leaves something to be desired,” you retorted playfully.   
  
Loki closed the book and laughed upon seeing you, “really? Darling, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” For a second you contemplated throwing something at him- but elected instead to drop the sheet from around your neck, and slowly stand to stretch languidly.  Loki audibly inhaled, and you felt his cool gaze tracing every swell and curve of your body- unable to look away. He swore, “woman you’re killing me.”  
  
You laughed deeply, and winked at him, “please, you’d know if I was killing you.”   
  
He stiffened, and nodded slowly, “I don’t doubt that.” Loki’s voice held a twinge of sobriety, one that moved him to toss you an old tunic of his.    
  
You smiled at the soft scents of lavender and smoke that clung to the olive colored fabric. You tugged the tunic on and crossed to sit with him.   
  
“I meant to thank you for the ritual,” your voice was soft and unsure, “the lavender is sacred to my family...I-“ your voice fades away into a weighted silence, wondering how exactly to thank his kindness when he’d shown you the depth behind it. In what words could you thank his adoration, his foresight and consideration?   
  
“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” he glared at you, “what do I care for your rituals.” The words were hollow, lacking the desired venom. He did not know the words to say he had to- he didn’t know how to perfectly say that to neglect your ritual betrothal would be neglecting the possibility of your affections. The concepts were foreign to him, not one to be so quickly and fully smitten.   
  
You felt the weight of all the things neither of you could conjure into words, and suddenly felt exposed as if your soul was laid bare in front of you for all to judge. But here in his room, it didn’t matter what he saw in your soul. Loki felt for you freely and without pretenses, completely at face value. He saw all your bloody desires, your immense power for what they were, and loved you for it.   
  
Shakily you took his hand in your’s, “can- can you teach me that spell...”   
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because, I don’t think you’d believe me any other way.”   
  
Before he could ask what was beyond his belief you  gently pressed your lips against his. For a second you both froze, before deepening the kiss. It was slow and thorough, the only way to hint your growing affections without magic.   
  
The kiss caught Loki off guard, unsure of your reasons. He could understand your attraction, he could understand the leverage he would provide to your cause, yet your direct tenderness felt like a dirty trick- one too soon to really consider.   
  
You felt his body freeze with tension and knew he was debating your intentions as you had the night before.   
  
“Please, teach me so you can know how I see you.” You said softly, your mind lingering over how he puzzled you in a thousand different ways, each fascinating and equally as powerful and bloody as yours. You thought Loki was like the stars, thousands of conflicting and competing parts all stitched together in one delightful brocade within the dark night sky. He drew your attention as a magnet, demanding your desires and dreams since your arrival, the errant thoughts of his dark hair, and strong arms plaguing your desires. And yet he felt more like yourself than you did displaced from your heritage.   
  
When he didn’t respond or meet your eyes you teased to try and lighten the mood, “What my lord— now you’ve got me to bed shall you refuse me?”  
  
“How could I refuse you?” He said, voice breaking over the syllables. “I didn’t ask for this, I was fine with being hated- I resented my father’s idea that a wife would gain me favor. But I cannot suffer your presence any longer! Not when you shine so brightly it feels like the moon has taken residence behind my eyes.”  
  
You almost berated him for placing his struggles on your shoulders as if you were responsible for his inner turmoil, yet as he met your eyes the thought died.   
  
“Have you cursed me, my love?” He said eyes stormy and forlorn, “Tell me in what manner you’ve bewitched me and I’ll hold you here no more.” Loki was tempted to chew his lip nervously, anticipating some trick of fate. Always believing the world against him, Loki maintained his strength and the mentality he had wronged none, but was wronged by all.  
  
Your heart ached with his implications. You knew the tales of his failed conquests in other realms, for the throne. You knew how he returned changed yet, here he sat so wounded by himself and those around him that nothing ever seemed quite real.   
  
“I’ve cast no spell.”  
  
“Then I haven’t the strength to refuse you any longer.”   
  
In a moment he’d wrapped you back within his arms as if tangled together nothing in either of your worlds could interfere. You tried to think of those words, their implications of such deep and familiar anger and sorrow- but found yourself lost within a kiss. His hands softly roamed your body, ghosting over your skin agonizingly thorough in their reverent exploration. In that kiss you knew whether here or restored to your kingdom there would be lifetimes for you to puzzle through his mind. He pulled you onto his lap, clutching to you desperately as if a gust of wind might blow you away. You melted against him letting your fingers run through his hair, each kiss linking you both closer in body and soul.

Hours later you snuck back into your own chambers set on dressing up before returning to your lover. Your servants were all alight with your return and your disheveled appearance inspired the most irreverent gossip. Impatient with their prattling and constant observance you sent them away, even refusing Halla’s attempts at drawing your bath.

Your head ached divided over how to proceed without disgracing you’re mother’s legacy, surrendering your kingdom, or leaving your newfound companion. Finally alone you slipped into the large tub, the hot waters turning your skin pink while instantly soothing the tension in your shoulders. You ran your hands over your body, remembering every touch, committing every bruise and bite to memory glowing with pride knowing his body was similarly marked. Within the back of your mind you kneel how proudly he’d wear each purple bite, secure enough to project to whom he exactly belonged. You grinned unconsciously knowing you too would dress and relish every snippet of gossip that would be told of your marked skin, and how brazenly you’d been claimed.

As the waters cooled Halla returned to help you into a robe, her mind aghast at the various marks scattered across your body. Knowing the link between you, she grasped your hands in her’s— her mind begging you to cover up. She wisely still feared the power of gossip. She implored you to at least wear a shawl- they were just starting to associate you with your mother's legacy. It would be unconscionable to lose that progress in light of your father's new transgressions. 

By the time she’d pulled your dress over your arms, and tied it's laces, your silent conversation stood halted as you asked, “to what new transgressions are you referring?”

Halla’s eyes grew wide, unwilling to divulge anything from her own mind. Hesitantly she withdrew a letter from her apron. It's seal was your Aunt's. She had a daughter your age, and wouldn't risk her life to support your claim while living under your father's roof. 

 

_My niece,_

_I've received word from those still loyal to you- our rightful Queen._  
_Your father quickly works through servants, many of them are fortunate_  
_and the guards get to them first...others are worked tirelessly until they collapse_  
_and the king no longer has use of them. Dozens of faithful servants to the crown_  
_have been executed for less in your absence, Without servants he's started demanding_  
_tribute from each family: one child to replace a dozen workers. His army is composed_  
_of unskilled men, many who have fallen in battle against their own brothers. Those_  
_who refuse to fight each other, or offer up their children are unable to leave._  
_He has men patrolling our boarders, and has enforced a heavy tax on all thoroughfares._  
_To survive many stay and obey- but with the rainy season approaching there aren't_  
_enough people to harvest the fields. All will be destroyed, many will starve._  
_If action isn't taken you won't have a kingdom to return to._

 

The blood in your veins boiled with each hastily scrawled word. You didn't have your mother's skill or power. Your only option was a rather simple protection spell, accompanied with prayer. The anger within you snarled and clawed for violence-reminding you of the power within your own blood. you were not a practitioner of blood magick but had read and seen the power that could manifest from it. That magick came with a price, one you might never understand. But what choice was there when your people were starved, beaten, and murdered? 

Halla was called into one of the antechambers while you gathered supplies. You arranged three black candles around you for power, nettle to stick, and rue to leach away life. You placed the leaves in a ceramic dish and willed them to spark on fire. You felt your heart skip as you pricked your finger and let the tiny drops fall into the flame. You knelt silently among the now lit candles, resting your palms upwards on your knees. Silently you prayed and cast your spell:

 _Goddess, the moon and all your stars hear my prayer, give me the power to send barbs to hinder those who wish to harm me, let their life fade and protect my people. I bind this spell and supplication with my blood and thank you for the protection it purchases_.  
  
Almost instantly your strength began to wan, and you felt the energy leave your body and into the spell. To finish the spell you slowly turned your palms over and laid them on the floor, extinguishing the candles. You swept the ashes from the dish into a vial and whispered for Halla to help you stand. She hesitated, frightened by your sudden pallor, before shakily helping you into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you just read? Remember to leave Kudos, comment and subscribe so you know when more parts are uploaded. And as always requests are open! Nothing is too detailed or off limits,  
> ~See you next time!


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